


heartfelt, hapless

by mutterandmumble



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Developing Relationship, Explicit Language, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Meet-Cute, completely necessary and justified hatred of powerade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:01:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27988131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mutterandmumble/pseuds/mutterandmumble
Summary: But bad days, angry college students, etc. Life has a strange sense of humor, and Yamaguchi has an outlook on it befitting a person with a glass half-full, if that glass were half-full of Powerade and therefore devoid of any optimism. So it goes. He panics, and he gets Powerade. By the time his cup’s filled he’s sick of everything and everyone but most of all himself, so he scurries away from the machine and heads over to the chairs, and as he does so he’s sure to keep his shoulders hunched and his head down which turns out to be a bit of a mistake, because the next thing that he knows he’s running into someone and spilling his (bright blue, lukewarm) Poweradeallover some poor soul’swhiteshirt.Or: in which Yamaguchi has a very bad day, and fortune favors the bold
Relationships: Tsukishima Kei/Yamaguchi Tadashi
Comments: 12
Kudos: 84





	heartfelt, hapless

**Author's Note:**

> Alright so this fic was written the week before finals/edited during finals week and was also a direct pushback against a bout of (still ongoing, unfortunately) writer’s block, and it is definitely not my best work by ANY means but by god if I didn’t have fun. Anyways this isn’t inspired by any particular event but the general Vibes are based on that one time my dumbass stumbled into the dining hall after having slept for less than two of the thirty-odd hours I’d been awake, and it’s also the second time I’ve used this particular meet-cute trope so make of that what you will I guess
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy!!

Yamaguchi’s been having a bad day. 

One of the ones so bad that it verges on unreal, the kind that you know to exist in the abstract but never expect to experience yourself because it’s so horrible as to be  _ excessive.  _ Why bother hoisting all that bad luck onto one person? There’s nothing to be gained from making him oversleep for an hour, no lesson to be learned from the sprint that he was forced to make across campus in his plaid pink pajama pants and an ancient t-shirt he’d scrounged up from the depths of his closet. His whole morning has been nightmarish and not even in the metaphor for personal growth kinda way; he looks like a mess and he feels like a mess and he  _ is  _ a mess. His hair is thrown up into a bun because after all this running around exactly three of his curls have maintained their shape while the rest have burst into errant frizz. He has dark circles smudged beneath his eyes. His forehead is currently flecked with bruises because he fell on his  _ face _ outside of the lecture hall.

And as it is there’s really no good reason to list all the other little horrors that he’s come across in the four hours that he’s been awake, the spell of rain that came out of nowhere and soaked him through, the derisive looks that stuck in his wake as he plodded along the sidewalks all sodden and sad and sorry-looking, the way that he accidentally took someone else’s drink at the coffee shop and then hightailed it out of there because he panicked; there’s no good reason but he’s going to do it anyways because he’s been having a bad day that’s been a part of a bad week and he feels that he deserves to be a _little_ upset at least. 

It’s a testament to his personal strength that he hasn’t died of embarrassment, he thinks. Now he  _ is  _ hiding out in his dorm with his stolen coffee in hand, pajamas plastered to his skin and free strands of hair weighed and watered back down into ringlets, and he  _ is _ staring glaze-eyed off into the distance because his soul detached itself from his body around the time Group Project #2 was assigned back in class, but he thinks that that’s justified. The coffee that he did not order is very sweet and very good and it’s making him feel much, much worse, but he can’t exactly throw it  _ away  _ if he wants to be able to sleep at night, so he drinks it and as he drinks it he cries a bit (guilt over accidentally stolen coffee is one thing, but guilt that’s compounded by exhaustion and preemptive panic is its own beast entirely) and the little part of his brain that is quite used to this by now taps its foot and looks at its watch and tells him to hurry it up, please.

In a surprisingly fortunate twist of fate- and maybe thanks to a little bit of foresight, he’s not  _ all  _ dumb- Yamaguchi doesn’t have any other classes today. He’s also got enough practice by this point in his life to realize when the universe is throwing him a bone, so after a minute more of slumping over his desk and bemoaning his sorry state of being, he dries his tears and chugs the dregs of his stolen coffee and then throws the cup out with a vehemence that is a  _ little  _ undeserved but very, very satisfying. Then he drags his weary, still pajama-clad body up from his desk, wobbles a bit because  _ holy fuck, _ and makes the on-the-spot decision to go down to the dining hall because he’s tired and he’s hungry and this day’s already been  _ comically  _ bad, so what’s another break in the schedule? Why  _ not  _ go to the dining hall at a time that he knows it’ll be experiencing high traffic? What could go wrong?

What could go  _ wrong? _

This time he does afford himself the dignity of two socks and tied shoelaces- something that he did not have time for that morning- before he leaves his room. His hair is still wound tight behind his head, and his clothing damp and sort of uncomfortable, but it is what it is; Yamaguchi thinks that if he tried to wear jeans now, he’d cease to be human and instead turn into a riot, and he doesn’t have the strength for that at the moment. Just thinking about changing makes his skin crawl, and as bad-day exhaustion outweighs the anxiety of going out in public while  _ looking  _ like he’s laboring beneath the weight of bad-day exhaustion, Yamaguchi leaves his hall for the second time that day looking almost exactly the same way he that did the first. 

The walk to the dining hall is thankfully uneventful. He’d been worried for a second there when a squirrel had darted into his path and stared him down until he was a scant foot away before scampering off, but nothing came of it and all is somewhat right with the world. The dining hall itself is just as crowded as he thought it would be which isn’t  _ great,  _ but bad-day exhaustion is one hell of a stabilizer and at this point the earth could tug itself from beneath his feet and send him plummeting straight to hell and he’d just be grateful for an excuse that would get him out of that group project. 

As it is though there looks to be no chance of that happening, so Yamaguchi does the next best thing: he gets himself some chicken tenders, and then he gets a brownie. It’s a good looking brownie, especially seeing as it came from the dining hall, and the anticipation of it is nearly killing him. That brownie is the only motherfucker on this planet that can handle him, Yamaguchi thinks, and then he decides that that’s really enough thinking for the day and meanders on over to the drink station to get himself something to wash down his subpar chicken with. He bypasses the soda because the drink machines in the dining hall are questionable at best and sometimes they just spit up seltzer water (and Yamaguchi’s having a bad day so he knows  _ exactly  _ what he’ll get if he gives into temptation and tries for a cherry coke) and instead goes for the next best thing- lemonade, name brand and everything- but when he’s got his cup lined up and his finger mashed somewhat desperately against the button, nothing happens.

Nothing happens, and he  _ really _ should have seen this coming.

There’s a line behind him at this point and as Yamaguchi has often been a tired and impatient college student in the dining hall himself, he knows exactly what every tired and impatient college student in that line is thinking, and because he knows what everyone in that line is thinking (trust him on this, he’s an expert), he knows that it’s only a matter of time before someone- maybe him- loses it and starts swinging. He desperately looks at his other options, swivels his head back and forth with an increasing sense of urgency and a slow, dawning dread because with all of his bad-day restrictions in place and the lemonade out of order, he’s only got one choice.

And what a choice it is. But the line is getting longer and his panic’s ramping up and up and up, so he takes a breath to ready himself in the way of a person about to make a radical decision and then- in a display that is a  _ gross  _ violation of his personal values- Yamaguchi jerks his cup to the side and gets himself some Powerade. 

It’s bright blue. It’s lukewarm. Such is life; bright blue, lukewarm, filled to the brim with electrolytes. Mountain Berry Blast flavored. Existing in direct opposition to Yamguchi and everything that he stands for,  _ everything that he stands for  _ being drinks that do  _ not  _ taste like gasoline, thank you very much. Words cannot describe his somewhat irrational and extremely strong hatred of Powerade but convoluted metaphor can get real close; Powerade is the stuff of nightmares, Powerade is a bad decision waiting to happen, Powerade is hell on earth sent to torment former athletes like him who once chugged so much of the stuff in a blind panic before a game that his teeth were stained blue and the opposing team mocked him  _ mercilessly  _ throughout the entire game and then his team  _ lost  _ and it was all because of that fucking  _ Powerade,  _ he knows it, he  _ knows  _ it-

But bad days, angry college students, etc. Life has a shitty sense of humor, and Yamaguchi has an outlook on it befitting a person with a glass half-full, if that glass were half-full of Powerade and therefore devoid of any optimism. So it goes. He panics, and he gets Powerade. By the time his cup’s filled he’s sick of everything and everyone but most of all himself, so he scurries away from the machine and heads over to the chairs, and as he does so he’s sure to keep his shoulders hunched and his head down which turns out to be a bit of a mistake, because the next thing that he knows he’s running into someone and spilling his (bright blue, lukewarm) Powerade  _ all over  _ some poor soul’s fucking  _ white  _ shirt. 

“Oh  _ no _ ,” Yamaguchi says blankly. The situation doesn’t feel real quite yet, hasn’t had time to sink in- he hadn’t been prepared for this sort of thing at  _ all,  _ because as bad as his day’s been this is a worst-case scenario and as much as he likes to ruminate and wonder and worry, his worst-case scenarios don’t actually happen all that often. So when he looks up (and up and  _ up,  _ god if Yamaguchi is tall than this person’s a  _ giant _ ) at whoever it is that he just spilled his drink all over, it’s like someone else is looking up at someone else somewhere far, far away from his college campus. Like a man on the moon looking at a man on the moon, no Powerade anywhere in sight. But real life isn’t half so kind so Yamaguchi gets his head back down on earth and braces himself and then looks right at whoever it is that he just rammed into.

And of  _ course,  _ of  _ course  _ it just so happens to be the hottest guy that Yamaguchi’s ever seen. 

Dirty blond hair curls down around an ear that’s pierced through several times (much like Yamguchi’s own, though he didn’t have time to put in his usual mess of earrings this morning) and then falls in soft waves to right down above his eyebrows. He’s got glasses and a smirk that seems automatic, headphones wrapped around his neck and a wiry, lean look about him, like an athlete. Yamaguchi wonders if he’s an athlete. God, he hopes that he’s an athlete. They’re going to need as much common ground as possible if he’s going to make it out of this encounter alive because the guy may be hot, but he’s also got his lip curled and he’s looking down at Yamaguchi like he’s a bug that he’s about to crush beneath the heel of his shoes that are probably name-brand and very expensive, but Yamaguchi knows nothing about shoes beyond the obvious so the details and any little luxuries of his death will be lost on him. He knows only one thing for certain, and that is that he will die as he lived:

Personally victimized by Powerade. 

“Hi there,” the guy drawls, tone thick with derision. Well-deserved, Yamguchi will give him that, but  _ still _ . “Bad day?”

This is said very meanly. Again expected, again deserved, as there are only three certainties in life and those are death, taxes, and that blue Powerade will stain white shirts. Really the only good things to come out of any of this is that he peripherally met a hot guy, this is going to make one  _ hell  _ of a story someday in the far, far future (he can feel it), and he managed to not drop his chicken or his brownie, and that brownie is the one thing he has going for him right now. That’s it. That brownie is his rock, his anchor, the wind beneath his wings. His lifeboat, his light at the end of the tunnel. God, he’s tired. 

_ Think of the brownie,  _ he chants to himself as the guy continues to stare at him with eyes that are honey-brown and the sort of striking that Yamaguchi will be thinking about for the rest of the week. They are not happy. He looks three seconds from homicide and Yamaguchi- who is very disappointed in himself for this- can’t help but think that that just makes him hotter. 

_Think of the brownie,_ he thinks again, and then _what is wrong_ _with you_ , just to spice things up a little. _Think of the brownie. Don’t think that he’s hot. Think of the brownie. Don’t think that he’s like, really, REALLY hot. Think of the brownie. He’s hot. He’s really hot and oh SHIT_ , _he’s saying something, tune back in and do it fast, listen, listen-_

“Uh,” Yamaguchi squeaks. “Uh.”

The guy looks at him expectantly. His mouth twitches up at the corner, and Yamaguchi’s mind goes completely and utterly blank.

“Uh. Fuck,” he says, and then something deep inside of him snaps and he realizes that there’s no real way for him to get out of this one, and well he’s been having a bad day. Yamaguchi won’t pretend that he’s the bravest person out there, but bad-day Yamaguchi is usually so exhausted that he can hardly see straight and four-hours-into-a-bad-day Yamaguchi is so far beyond the point of  _ giving a shit  _ that any residual anxiety has long buried its head in the sand. Yamaguchi has tripped and sprinted and stumbled his way into a state of complete emotional tranquility; Yamguchi has  _ transcended. _

“Fuck,” he says again, to communicate this. Somewhere in the back of his brain he thinks that people must be staring. There is a fleck of Powerade on his pajama pants, and he sees it clearly and so sharply that he thinks that there  _ must  _ be a reason; that fleck of Powerade must be his saving grace, his miracle come to earth again. Yamaguchi is beginning to think that he maybe should like, watch tv or read a book or something for a bit and calm down. “Fuck, man. Sorry. Fuck.”   
  


The guy is unimpressed with this. The guy says, “You don’t really say much, do you?”

Yamaguchi blinks at him. He blinks back. The Powerade is beginning to pool between them, dripping from the guy’s (now blue) shirt, and Yamaguchi hears every drop like a drumbeat as it falls to the floor. Bam, bam, bam. Say something, idiot. Bam, bam, bam. He’s  _ looking  _ at you. Bam, Bam. Say  _ something _ . 

“I lost my pen in the lecture hall today,” Yamaguchi blurts out.  _ NOT THAT,  _ his brain yelps, but Yamaguchi doesn’t care because Yamaguchi is still as placid as any one person can be and he’s got immunity from shame for the next thirty, forty minutes, so he’s going to say whatever he wants to, damn the consequences. That’s a problem for future Yamaguchi; present Yamaguchi is going to talk to the hot guy that he just spilled Powerade all over. There are worse conversation starters anyways, like I broke up with my girlfriend the other day or I just filed for bankruptcy or  _ damn  _ don’t you hate it when finals week ends, god knows that that’s the only time I feel alive anymore. There are worse things to say, and he’s fine. He’s fine. He’s fine.

“You… what?” the guy asks. He’s trying to unstick his shirt from his stomach, and Yamaguchi winces in sympathy because his own shirt’s still kinda damp from the rain earlier and it’s not fun. More common ground; maybe he  _ will  _ walk away from this with all his limbs, and- more importantly- his fucking  _ brownie  _ intact. 

“My pen,” he repeats. And well, in for a pen, in for the couple yen he’s got in his pocket. He’s in too deep to stop  _ now.  _ “I lost it in the lecture hall and I didn’t have another on me which was really stupid because I’m having a bad day so I should’ve brought a backup, right? I guess you’re having a bad day now too, but like, we can both have a bad day. I don’t think there’s any rule against two people having a bad day at the same time, because if there was than my life would be way fucking easier, except with my luck I’d be the only person to  _ ever  _ have a bad day, and that would be worse than this because if a person could only ever have a bad day that would be like, really fucking depressing. Like,  _ really  _ fucking depressing. Anyways, I’m getting off track. So I overslept this morning, right? So I had to run to get to class but because I had to run to get to class I forgot my backpack so I had to use the pen that I found on the ground outside after I fell on my  _ face,  _ and it was purple and super obviously chewed on one end and really gross, honestly. But it was there and I was kinda desperate so I figured fuck it! I’ll use the gross chewed-on pen! 

“So I borrowed some paper from a classmate and everything was fine for a little while, I mean it was eight in the morning so it can only be so good, but it was fine. Bearable. And then I  _ dropped  _ the pen that was annoying but not like,  _ terrible,  _ but then I go to look for it and  _ bam- _ ” he slaps his free hand on his leg for effect, and the guy gives him a flat look. He doesn’t look as horribly angry as he did earlier though, and the corner of his mouth is twitching, so Yamguchi figures that he may as well see this through until the bitter end. “It was gone! And I looked everywhere, I looked fucking  _ everywhere,  _ and I couldn’t find it, and I’d hit my limit for asking to borrow things when my classmate gave me that paper, right? So I just had to sit there. For half an hour, with gravel in my hair and half a set of notes and  _ no fucking pen. _ ”

The guy is snickering openly now, one hand up in front of his mouth in an ineffective and sort of backhanded way of attempting decorum, but Yamaguchi finds that he likes making the hot guy he spilled Powerade all over laugh- even if it is at his own expense- so he barrels on, amping up the theatrics. Sound effects, gestures, effective pauses; he’s bringing out the  _ good  _ shit. He’s making an  _ effort. _

“And when class finally let out I figured I’d go splurge on some coffee, try to feel alive again, but get this, get  _ this,  _ you wouldn’t believe this  _ bullshit _ -” he leans in. Powerade guy leans in too, though he doesn’t seem to be completely aware that he’s doing so; his face is still stuck in that (hot) smirk, his (hot) eyes bright behind his glasses and his incessant snickering (somehow also hot in a way Yamaguchi’s decided not to think too much about) hasn’t let up. He’s got a story to tell.

“It rains! It starts to fucking  _ rain! _ Like a downpour like a fucking  _ hurricane  _ and I’m stuck outside in my pajamas and I’m trying to find something to stand under, but then it stops all of a sudden and I’m super confused but I figure that I’ve been through enough, so I’m going to go get my coffee, and then I’m going to go back to my dorm and sleep for twelve hours straight. So I finally make it to the coffee stop and I order and then I’m just standing there looking  _ super  _ obviously like someone who just got caught in the rain- I was dripping all over the floor, I felt  _ so  _ fucking bad- and I think that I hear them call my name so I go grab the drink but then I’m halfway to the door and I realize that the name on the cup isn’t mine and then I think  _ shit,  _ somebody’s about to murder me because I stole their coffee, so I just leave. I run. I ran for the third time today. 

“And I looked it up when I got back to the dorm because the receipt had the price on it right, and my drink was more expensive so at least I didn’t steal something that I didn’t  _ technically  _ pay for, but  _ god.  _ I stole it so I had to drink it, and I felt super terrible about it so when I finished I decided to go to the dining hall to see if I couldn’t save  _ some  _ part of my day, but then I spilled Powerade all over some hot guy and now the only thing I’ve got going for me is this brownie.”

Yamaguchi announces this last bit grandly, with a great big gesture for effect. Immediately he’s forced to watch as the brownie flies off of his plate and rockets up, up, up into a graceful arc and suspends itself midair for a moment (for the drama) before gravity works it’s magic and the brownie lands with a sad  _ plop  _ in the puddle of Powerade. Yamaguchi feels a rage akin to that of a man deprived of his dying breath; across from him the guy’s face does a weird little spasm and his shoulders start shaking and he looks equal parts horrified and delighted, hand clapped over his mouth in a last desperate attempt to stifle what Yamaguchi has since identified as actual  _ laughter.  _

He’s successful for a moment, and then the dam breaks and he’s laughing full-on, hand slipping to the side of his face and eyes shut as he throws back his head. The shitty dining hall lights catch on the curve of his throat and in half a second Yamaguchi goes from experiencing no emotion at all to feeling everything a person can feel all at once, and before he knows it he’s laughing too because this whole thing is so  _ ridiculous  _ and so  _ stupid  _ and so mindlessly  _ unlucky  _ that he just can’t help himself- there’s bad days and then there’s  _ this _ , and there’s making a fool of yourself and then there’s  _ this  _ and there’s getting a little flustered talking to attractive people and then there’s  _ this. This  _ is so overblown so as to be absurd;  _ this  _ is a fucking Shakespearian tragedy, and Yamaguchi is horrified and Yamaguchi is laughing and Yamaguchi is very, very confused. 

“You’re a bit of a mess, aren’t you?” the guy says through his own laughter, and he’s got a perfectly shaped eyebrow raised into a perfect arc and his glasses aren’t falling down the bridge of his perfect nose even a  _ little  _ bit- he’s so perfectly put together and perfectly  _ perfect  _ that Yamaguchi is offended. And sort of mortified, but that’s a given he thinks. Yamaguchi is generally mortified. 

“A bit,” Yamaguchi agrees as his breathing begins to even out. The odd giggle still pokes through but hey, at least he can speak again. Just in time to make an even  _ bigger  _ fool of himself.

“It was a decent story though,” the guy continues. “Especially the part where you spilled Powerade all over some hot guy. For future reference, he’d like you to know that there are easier ways to hit on someone.”

“You’re kind of an asshole,” Yamaguchi tells him, and the guy snorts. 

“Justified, I think,” he says dryly, gesturing down at himself. Yamaguchi winces, gives a little half shrug and tries to look apologetic. 

“Sorry?” he tries. He nudges the brownie with his foot, face twisting into a grimace as it gives a nauseating squelch. He’s still (miraculously) got his chicken tenders, but that’s a halfhearted consolation prize at this point- if even that- and life is a nightmare. 

“Just… forget about it,” the guy replies in a tone that implies that he himself will be doing no such thing. His glare has graduated from  _ I’m going to crush you like a bug  _ to  _ I would remain passive in the face of your untimely yet easily preventable death,  _ which Yamaguchi is taking as a compliment. 

Regardless, he blinks because  _ forget about it  _ seems like letting him off too easy, and he’s been having too bad a day for that. So with dread building in his stomach, he asks: “Really?”

The guy considers him. Looks him up and down, tilts his head to the side, hums a little. Taps his foot, drips some more Powerade. Yamaguchi is feeling many things, and he couldn’t name one of them.

“Look,” he starts, kind of condescending, kind of amused, and kind of nicely, actually. Fond, or at least as fond as you can be of some stranger who spilled Powerade all over you and then used the opportunity to rant about their horrible day. “You seem like the type of person to get yourself killed if left unsupervised. I know the type and I know how this sort of thing goes, so I  _ also _ know that it’s really better if we both just forget about it. It’s easier that way. Less property damage.”

Yamaguchi stares at him for a beat, and he stares back but it’s considerably less intimidating now that Yamaguchi knows he has questionable (at best) taste regarding the people that he chooses to spend his time with. Between them, the puddle of Powerade begins to spread; there is an employee coming over with a mop and an air of general exhaustion, so Yamaguchi has to wrap this up fast anyways so that he can apologize to them in full once they’ve arrived.

“Just like that?” he says, because it still seems too easy and he thought that maybe, just  _ maybe  _ they’d bonded a little and were standing together at the start of a slightly explosive friendship.

The guy looks at him again. Up, down. Up, down. Yamaguchi fidgets a bit, prods at one of his chicken tenders and wonders what dismal fate is going to befall them, because he  _ knows  _ that he’s not going to get to eat them. He can feel it in his bones.

“Tell you what,” the guy says. “I’ll give you my number. You can pay for the shirt, get me a coffee, and then we’ll call it even.”

Yamaguchi blinks.

“Not today,” he blurts out, and then hurries to clarify because he  _ cannot  _ fucking mess this up. “I mean, I don’t have any cash on me and I can’t go back to the coffee shop here for at least two days and you probably have to change anyways, so… Thursday?”

Well, it’s as good a day as any and the guy seems to agree because he’s nodding again, mouth quirked like he’s trying not to laugh but in such a way that he’s making it  _ obvious  _ that he’s trying not to laugh. 

“Thursday,” he agrees. And then he  _ does  _ laugh, and Yamaguchi feels very strange about it because he has a very nice laugh but Yamaguchi is being laughed  _ at  _ and that’s never nice and all in all there’s a lot happening, and the employee with the mop is bearing down on them like a tidal wave, so he takes his emotions and he shoves them away into a hastily constructed mental pocket, and then he carries on pulling his phone from his pocket and  _ not  _ dropping it, thank you very much, though it’s a close thing. They exchange numbers, quick so that some other terrible thing doesn’t have the chance to interrupt their plans, and Yamaguchi gets a name: Tsukishima Kei. Then he gets absolutely no sympathy as the employee with the mop arrives and Tsukishima Kei makes his quick and inelegant escape, giving a wave over his shoulder and then disappearing into the throng of people. 

_ It could be worse,  _ Yamaguchi thinks as he watches him slip out of sight and turns his attention in full to the wide-eyed teen with the mop and ill-fitting visor, looking as harried and hapless as Yamaguchi probably does.  _ At least I got his name. _

And a maybe-friend, and a maybe-date, depending on how things go. It’s a start, at least and really, really on a day like this (or any day at all), that’s all that he can ask for.

**Author's Note:**

> Yamaguchi: is kinda rude, _completely_ out of it
> 
> Tsukishima: oooooh i can’t _not_ date him
> 
> Anyways, please consider leaving a comment if you enjoyed!!! I love hearing from you guys!!!


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